The Defector by Evelyn Anthony Page A

parents. Or when she was at the beginning of a new love-affair, and it seemed that she was going to find the same unequivocal adoration she associated with her father. Then her self-assurance and optimism overcame her commonsense, and the new adventure was begun without a thought for the outcome. Love for Charley was a constant search that always promised perfect happiness, and ultimately always disappointed. She was devoted to her parents, but she couldn’t stay with them too long, unless she was hurt or unhappy and needed to be set right. She had never understood the need to run away from them after a time; she merely followed her impulse, and felt vaguely guilty. She made tea now for her father in the kitchen, and they shared it like conspirators. Then she said she must pack and start the drive back. At the kitchen door, Charley slipped an arm round her father’s neck and, reaching up, she kissed him.
    “I’m sorry the weekend’s been so short,” she said “And don’t forget you’re my best beau!” It was her way of saying goodnight to him when she was very young, and going to a party or a dance with some admirer fidgeting by the front door. She didn’t recognize that, unfortunately for her, it was the truth. She said a brief and casual goodbye to Davina. She and the Pole were crouching over the fire with teacups in their hands, and for a moment Charley had a feeling she was intruding. She didn’t approach Davina;
    she stood in the doorway, displaying another facet of her amazing good looks. The beautiful traveller about to embark, suitcase in one hand, the other raised in a graceful wave. She saw them turn from each other and look at her, and there was something close, almost intimate, about them, although they were not sitting together, not touching in any way. The Pole stood up, but didn’t move towards her like most men did, looking for an excuse to hold her hand while they said goodbye. He loomed with his back to the fire, and the lamplight behind him. He seemed solid, menacing, not the easy captive she had first judged him. And her sister’s face held something secret, and yet triumphant.
    “Goodbye,” they said, one after the other; she echoed it with a gaiety she didn’t feel, and quickly shut the door on them.
    “Well,” Davina said loudly.
    “That was a short visit. She must have some poor devil in tow in London. Let’s have a drink.” Sasanov pressed heavily on her shoulder with his hand. The fingers hurt.
    “Let’s go upstairs,” he said. Normally, Jeremy Spencer-Barr avoided beautiful girls. They made him uncomfortable, with their expectation that he was going to be attracted to them. He spent the first half hour at the drinks party that evening talking to a man who was in a City merchant bank, and getting Mary to introduce him to a playboy financier much mentioned in Private Eye. He sought contacts and information wherever he went, storing up the most trivial information in case it should link up with something else. His appetite for conspiracy was whetted by the merchant banker’s remarks about the financier, and by rumours that he was involved in arms deals from America enroute to the IRA.
    “Oh, there’s Charley Ransom,” Mary said, tugging at his arm.
    “I don’t think I’ll introduce you, darling. She’s a real man-eater.” Jeremy looked across at the girl who had just come in. He didn’t like red hair, but she was startlingly beautiful. The description of a man-eater didn’t recommend her.
    “You don’t have to worry about me,” he said.
    “Her sister works in the Ministry too,” Mary said.
    “There was quite a scandal in the Graham family when Charley walked off with the sister’s fiance.”
    “Did you say Graham?” he asked her.
    “Yes, she was Charlotte Graham before she got married. I’ve never met the sister; she’s some kind of high-powered secretary. Come on, darling, of course I’ll introduce you I was only joking.”
    “All right,” Jeremy said